Playful Minds
by Bugsyboo1313
Summary: Part two of my story titled "A Worried Mind". Parentlock. Sherlock, John, and Hamish have to get down to the bottom of a crime. Relationships grow stronger, but the mystery of who is behind destroying Sherlock's family is becoming worse. Rated T for some language, and I guess some images. Please review! Thanks! :-)


**Playful Minds (Chapter 1)**

Fires Burn

***This is the beginning of part two of my story entitled ****A Worried Mind. ****If you haven't read part one, technically you don't have to, but you'll get a better understanding of the story. You can read both stories separately or read them as one. This part of the tale involves the Sherlock, John, and Hamish (a little) solving a crime. Hope you enjoy!**

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Fire. Fires that have flickering flames with a swirl of blue and red and orange. Letting off tiny specs into the surrounding air, and when at touch with skin roasts the flesh beneath. Spreading through forests, spitting sparks in all directions and burning innocent life in its path. Strong and powerful, yet can be defeated and washed out. The sunset colors encircling the blazing blue center protruding from the match. And then it connects with a flammable object, pleading for trouble and menace.

Those flickering flames burned in the eyes of Sherlock Holmes as he stared into space, buried deep in his mind palace. His blood boiling in his veins, his temperature rising and creating perspiration, flowing in droplets down his long pale forehead. The scent of London and sugar in his nose, the touch of his fingertips against his wet lips. He heard nothing but the shuffling of tiny footsteps behind his ears, feeling a power surge through his chest.

The fire was spreading. Not through a forest or from a match, but through the detective's body. Snaking from his head through his neck, landing in its permanent destination until the crime was solved. The ache in his chest became sharper, and his fingers gripped at the stuffing protruding from his favorite black chair's cushions. The messages riddled his brain, making it expand in frustration and crack his skull.

_I will burn the heart out of you. _

The detective remembered those words far too well. Just like the blast of a gunshot when a bullet whizzed through the air. Like a thousand knives piercing his skin.

_This wasn't the end of Sir Boast-a-lot's story…_

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"Father?" The fabric of his blazer was being tugged near the shoulder area. "Father…are you okay?" The detective snapped back to reality and craned his neck, staring into his son's childish face. Hamish Watson-Holmes, so different yet so alike his parents.

"Are you okay?" Hamish repeated, taking things one step at a time. "You look really peaky…" His eyes, just like John's, were filled with sadness and uneasiness.

"Fine," Sherlock lied, shaking his head so the curls bounced in his hair. Hamish rested both his elbows on the arm of his father's chair, his chin digging into his knuckle bones. A shudder passed over Sherlock' spine, making him flinch and shiver.

"Maybe this will help," Hamish suggested, turning away from his father to retrieve an object that was out of sight. The tiny boy's hands molded the detective's so he held the warm, steaming mug in his grasp. Sherlock stared down at the boiling liquid swirling in the cup, not crystal clear to why Hamish had given him the comfort.

"Hamish…" The eight year old raised his eyebrows, fishing for a compliment and waiting for his father to approve of his actions. He was startled though when the unexpected words blurted from his father's mouth. "You've never made me coffee before…"

"So?" the shorter boy shrugged.

Sherlock pondered the thought deeply before taking a sip of his coffee. _Black, two sugars. How did he know…?_

"Dad told me how to," Hamish told him, as if he'd read the man's mind. "Just, in case." Hamish let his feet take him over to John's plaid armchair, and he plopped down into the seat across from the detective. Sherlock felt like he was going to teach his son about a non-comfy subject or something.

"You shouldn't even be here," Sherlock informed Hamish, as if his son had completely forgotten about his surgery. Hamish stared at his father, his lips peeling from one another and his piercing eyes locked on the taller man. "You shouldn't. If I hadn't started this game with…" he cut off mentioning Moriarty's name.

"It's my fault," the detective confirmed, reaching over the arm of his chair to slam his mug on the table. Hamish jumped in his seat, pulling his knees into his chest so his bare feet rubbed against the edge of the bottom cushion. "Because of me, you were beat up at school. Because of me, you had to have surgery. Because of me, John's in the hospital!" His voice tone was rising with every syllable pronounced.

"Father, it's not your fault…" Hamish tried to convince him, leaning closer to the consulting detective.

"Yes it is!" The scream came from his mouth harsher than he'd intended it to. Hamish backed away, sulking and knowing he'd gone too far. Sherlock shook from head to toe, fighting with himself on how he needed to apologize to his son.

"It's my fault…" His voice cracked and escaped from his lips in barely a whisper. His trembling hand came up to greet his cheekbone. Before he got the chance to continue his explanation, the part of Sherlock Holmes that truly loved came out from the shadows. "I'm sorry Hamish…"

He could feel the water droplets compressing in his glassy spheres as eyes. Soon he couldn't hold them in any longer and the tear tracks were felt on his face, running smoothly down his face. "Hamish…" he whispered again, extending his arms. The fragile boy lifted his head from his misery and accepted his father's invitation, sitting on his lap and burying his head into Sherlock's chest.

The feel of Hamish's cotton shirt was glorious on Sherlock's fingers, and his hair that he'd flattened smelled of strawberries. The young son no longer had a head full of curls, but his eyes had remained the same. Warm and special. Even though they resembled John's, they were still his own.

Hamish noticed that his father had lost a lot of weight since he'd first visited him in his hospital room. He was mainly skin and bone, barely muscle. This worried Hamish. He didn't want his father to become anorexic or malnourished since he refused to eat most of the time.

"It's just not the same without dad here," came the muffled cry from inside Sherlock's blazer. Sherlock pulled Hamish in closer, speaking words of comfort.

"I know. I know…" John was always the better parent when times of trouble arose, as Sherlock was never one to express his emotions much towards people.

Unless it was his family.

Hamish pulled away from his father's chest, letting Sherlock's arms slide down his side, remaining wrapped around the eight year olds body.

"Coffee," Hamish sniffed, pointing to the table and the small puddle that surrounded the base of the cup.

"It's quite good," Sherlock assured him, picking up the mug in his hand and ignoring the drink dripping from the handle. Hamish's mouth curved into a smile. Sherlock licked his lips, and gave Hamish a delightful kiss on his cheek.

"I love you Hamish." He poked his son on the end of his pink nose.

"I love you too father." The little boy threw his body on his father again, and Sherlock smiled as he enjoyed the hug.

Unless it was his family. Family was an exception.

***Just a cute little short chapter to begin Part 2. It might take me a while to upload these story chapters b/c I'm currently writing a Sherlock/Harry Potter story, which I'm really into. If you're a Sherlockian who loves Harry Potter and young Johnlock, feel free to read my story titled Magic Consulting Colleagues. **

***Anyway, hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Please review! :-)**

***And read part one if you haven't yet...**


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